Warmth
by Aeselli
Summary: An imprisoned woman (Anastacia) meets a strange man and he shows her a foreign kindness and warmth she has not felt in years. As they learn more of one another, they delve deep into their past sins. A romance blossoms from emotional support and comfort between two unlikely people. But what sin could possibly warrant their current suffering?
1. Lordran Prologue

**A/N: You can skip this chapter if you like, it doesn't relate to the actual story. It's just generic Lordran-is-dangerous description chapter.**

The world of Lordran is dangerous, whether it be beasts or man alike, the inhabitants were all tempered to survive. To this fact, the Firekeeper knew all too well.

The preponderant beasts of Lordran possessed the power and size to survive; smaller creatures bound together in packs. The Undead were much the same, if not capable in the way of sword and board, they took up arms in the arcane and studied sorceries or pyromancy. If not blessed with the brawn of Lodran's beasts or the insight of scholars, the more dexterous and cunning would opt for lighter weapons. Ones that could weave through the cracks and slits of heavier armor or strike at the most delicate and vital of places on those adorning lighter defenses.

As such, kindness was a rare thing to come by. Those of the Undead, whom repeatedly won battles were adorned with their spoils, those who did not would slowly wither away into the background. One could only accomplish so much with a rusted straight sword, even defeating the weakest hollow with such armament came with certain risks. Those that still lived were busy fending for themselves or cozening others. Protecting another was unheard of.

Every warrior battled against the hollowing; it was a silent malady that plagued those cursed with eternal, undying constitutions. Each subsequent death would gnaw at one's mental fortitude until naught but a carcass of a man would remain, driven only on instinct.


	2. Her World

**A/N: This is not related to my other fic "Undead Asylum." I wanted to take a more serious approach with this one.**

The Firekeeper's world was not a very large or by any means interesting one. Her world consisted of her field of view; that, and a cavern on the side of a cliff. Perhaps cavern was too grandiose a term, a dirt cave was by far more accurate. The strange prison held its mold even though the soft dirt that constituted it threatened to blow away at a gale. Her useless legs had withered away over time, and lacked the muscle to even move. Without tendons she could hardly walk even if her legs worked. There was just enough space for her to sit upright, legs to one side. And there she sat, tending to the flame for the past days, weeks, years, decades… Time was a flighty concept; with only the Sun to measure time, the Firekeeper instead spent those meager moments basking in the warmth. The nights were chilly with her gaunt midriff shielded by only a thin, indecorous cloth of robe. Thus, the few moments of respite from her boredom and deprived body was welcome.

At times, little creatures and insects bore through the thin soil: spiders, ants, snakes, scorpions alike. The Firekeeper was deathly afraid and unable to escape, often resorting to tremulous sobs in a corner with damp eye lids. However, skittering critters were not the only danger that threatened her. Though immortal, the frail Firekeeper still felt the full impact of maladies and physical harm. The rusted iron bars before her that served to imprison, also served to protect. She had no desire to leave her dwelling, though some stimulus would welcome.

Hollowed men, beasts, and _sane_ men, had all grasped at her from beyond the bars. Their reasoning varied: some starved, some craved bloodshed, others lusted after her – after all, women were not common in this land. Her interactions were not always dangerous though, there were more undead that required her services than not. The occasional curious ones would also attempt conversation, but with no tongue she was often misunderstood.


	3. Cold then Warm

The Firekeeper had seen every type of man she thought existed. But today, a man with a limping gait approached her. His armor consisted of moderately sized leather pauldrons and a fitting chest piece, all held together by various assortments of leather straps and bucklers. Designs snaked across the straps and a large symbol on his left pauldron. At his side were a light blade and dagger. It was obvious the warrior much more preferred dexterous combat to sword and board or the arcane.

His countenance was hidden by his hood and she could not discern if she was friend or foe. He approached her prison slowly, stopping mere inches from her rusted prison. The iron bars were spotted in black and brown, they had no seen maintenance in years, though their strength still ever present.

He grasped two adjacent bars and a quick tug yielded no results. At the sudden movement the Firekeeper inched noticeably away from the stranger. Noticing her fear, he opted to remove his hood slowly, as if the speed at which he did would be the distinction between hostility.

The man had dark brown hair and similarly hazel eyes, his features distinct, but not prominent. He was of average height and build, but toned muscles hid beneath the leather that adorned his body, trained by his acrobatic combat style. He held no expression but the Firekeeper had seen many faces in her time. Those eyes had no doubt seen things many never should. But there was also an ever lurking kindness in those eyes.

He knelt down retrieved a canteen from one of the many pouches strapped to his body, and offered it gently between the rusted bars. Caution and hesitance stopped the Firekeeper. Though she could not die, waiting for her body to rid the pain of poison was still treacherous.

 _How long has it been since water last touched these lips of mine?_ The Firekeeper pondered. On rainy days, with no basin, the dirt and soot covered woman could only extend a weakly arm to feel the water droplets. She had long abandoned the notion of hygiene, for the sake of both convenience and her lost pride.

The warrior's arm rested in the air for a while. Catching an inkling of her caution, the warrior unclasped the cap with a pop and put his lips to the opening. He took in a large sip with an audible _gulp._ Again, he offered the canteen, having proved it was not dangerous

The Firekeeper reached out with trembling hands and grasped the canteen. As her chapped and once lustrous lips reveled in the wetness. Cold fluid ran its way down her throat as a shiver traveled up her spine. Her blonde hair fell back into place as she lowered to head. She could only manage a weakly smile to the stranger.

 _Kindness… how rare._ She thought, grateful for his kind gesture, but fully expecting him to take his leave. _If only thou would stay. If only I could ask him to stay._ Loneliness was a curse and disease like any other that would prod at one's emotional health. How the lonely Firekeeper yearned to hear another's voice. _Tell me a tale of your travels, stranger._ She beckoned with her eyes.

Much to her surprised, he fastened the now empty canteen back into a pouch, stood swiftly and spun on his heels. He dropped to his posterior and rested his back against the frame of her prison.

The Sun shone with all its fervor that day and the wind blew. The warrior's redolent aroma wafted her sense and she could just _melt._ The Firekeeper could hardly remember the last time she felt tired and safe. The warrior sat in front of her as if to say _Don't worry, I will keep watch._ Her eyes grew heavy as she was lulled to sleep by the sound of the blowing wind and the sweet scent of a man. A blush spread from her cheeks to the rest of her body as she became enveloped in a warmth that had been foreign to her. With her arms as a pillow, her last sight was of the warrior right in front of her.

 _He was within arm's length of her, yet the warmth of his body would be an entirely different sensation._


	4. Animal to Human

The Firekeeper had awoken long ago, too afraid to open her eyes.

 _What if he is not there? What if it was all a dream?_ She caught herself, it had been a while since she hoped for anything.

Touching her lips and remembering cold feeling of the canteen, she slowly opened her shutters. Her heart thumping a slow, rhythmic beating.

 _Thump thump thump._

Her reverie was broken when her usual scene laid before her: a pleasant stretch of grass, dirt, and soil, a few stone columns, and the infinitely expanding sky and sea beyond that, united by a horizon. The usual scene in front of her seemed that much more empty today, and the horizon just that much further.

 _What was I thinking?_ With a sigh, she pouted her lips and scrunched her eyebrows.

 _It is to be expected._ The woman had long given up hope, but the stranger's unexpected act of kindness yesterday ignited a hope, a longing she didn't know she still had. What she felt was not hope though. To hope is to expect, and she has long since cast her expectations aside. What the Firekeeper did, was _wish_. She wished that he would have, at the very least, stayed until she had awoken. He disappeared, like many others the Firekeeper would only see once, no doubt hollowing.

With a start, the Firekeeper gasped as a figure leaped from above and landed before her. Tears almost spilled as she recognized the stranger. Whether it was out of freight or relief she did not know. But the slightest of smiles crept upon her face.

The Firekeeper was not naïve enough to call this romance, neither was the strange man. What they both desired was companionship to satiate their loneliness.

He was a man of few words, but his actions and eyes spoke volumes. When he did speak, however, the man's soft and gentle voice carried a melodic quality to it, and soothed the Firekeeper.

"I have brought some rations and a basin. Pray, do wash yourself." The man offered a basin with a rag, a clean brown robe, a canteen, and three clumsily molded rice balls that were humorously lopsided.

The Firekeeper could not help but tear up at the sentiment and giggle adorably at the obviously amateur-made rice balls. She bowed her head in gratitude as he turned to give her privacy.

The woman pulled at the sash on her waist, the decade year old robe had held together quite nicely. It was of strong fabric but rough and uncomfortable. The years of wear had left the cloth in tatters and bore holes in certain areas.

As she looked down to her naked body, all the years of imprisonment dawned on her at once. Her body was unhealthily starved and blanched. Bones protruded and skin was stretched over it. Her limbs, almost black with grime and soot. In the early days of her imprisonment, she was smart enough to dig a hole in the corner of her prison to relieve herself. After years without food and water, that hole had been long filled. But the shame never left her frail body and tender psyche. _She was caged like an animal._

She desperately scrubbed at her own skin with the rag. It was as if cleaning herself would return those years of humiliation and sadness.


	5. Rice Balls

By the time the Firekeeper had cleaner herself to satisfaction, the basin was unrecognizable. The fluid inside, viscous and dark, was unbelievably clear water just moments prior. At this, the Firekeeper flushed with shame.

The robe itself wrapped various other goodies. Inside, was a comb, scarf, and a beautiful aqua colored crystal necklace that radiated light. The robe fit surprisingly well. It was comfortable, soft, and warm; it was undoubtedly high quality fabric.

Up until now, the woman savored the stranger's kindness, but a thought slowly crept at the back of her head, _why?_ It was difficult to believe that there was anyone left in Lordran with such a kind heart and survive. Kindness was abused in this land.

 _He has to want something, but I have nothing to offer – not even my body should he seek it, behind these unwavering bars of steel._ The last thought noticeably increasing her heart rate.

Her quizzical look prompts the man to respond, "I seek nothing from thou but thine company. I have been alone for far too long, and I fear…"

She smiled and waved her hands to convey _do not worry._ And as always, the observant man understood.

By the time the Firekeeper's cleansing and dressing was ready, the sun was high in the sky. After so long, she had learned to ignore the pain that comes with dehydration and starvation. Gazing upon the rice balls as a cheetah would a gazelle, surely brought back her appetite. With an audible _growl_ in her stomach, she took the first bite.

Uncontrollable tears dampened her pale cheeks and streamed from her chin. The ugly rice balls, without fail, brought inaudible laughter to her again. The sentiment was too endearing as she choked through the sobs and giggles, stuffing her face with rice, careful not to drop a single grain.

"Whatever sin you have committed or may think you have committed, you have paid it back tenfold. I will free you from this prison," the warrior vowed, silently, to himself.

 **A/N: At first, it was just a lonely man and a lonely woman that sought each other's company. But both Anastacia and the strange man have a backstory. The man is not kind out of the goodness of his heart and Anastacia was not imprisoned for no reason. Though after many life times' worth of hardship, I want their meeting each other to be the salvation that lifts them from that deep, dark hole. That's the general image I have for the rest of the story, and I have many ideas but it's difficult to coherently weave them all together as I'm still new to fanfic story telling.**

 **If you have read this far, please do leave a review and tell me how I'm doing, both what I'm doing right and wrong.**


	6. Peaceful Respite

The following days remained uneventful. The man rarely left the Firekeeper's side, and if he did, never for long.

He assumed his usual comfortable position with his back faced to her. By now, the Firekeeper had settled into a routine with the man. She mirrored his position as she shuffled over, her legs dragged against the dirt floor, and rested her back against the metal frame. This was the closest the two could be, without arms reaching out and embracing one another.

The peaceful crepitation of the fire before them ever so slowly drew moisture out from the strips of meat, masterfully filleted from small game in the surrounding densities of wood and grass. Preserving food was always important, but preservation always preceded anticipation. What knowledge the man had, he had not shared with the Firekeeper, and she did not ask. She _could_ not ask.

However, it was a fact that the man's dutiful and scheduled meals had returned some life and color to the starved woman's bones. The woman's bodice loosened from a few days prior, as she regained some of her womanly charm. In a morbid analogy, it was the fattening before the harvest. Though, the Undead need not sustenance to survive; eating and drinking were only a pleasure. Surely, their undying and eternal bodies could survive without such pleasantries, but it was never pleasant. She could only wonder to his reasonings. The man never did explain himself.

"Eat this… Drink…" Words of such nature were the only ones that were uttered in the passing days.

Night had fallen and the sun had set. Time passed by speedily, even in their peaceful days without activity or conversation. The flame just mere paces in front of them, illuminated the surroundings. Shadows danced and a bright orange and yellow hue painted on the view. The surrounding, corroded and moss-covered columns all adorned a different visage. The foundation of the fire was sunken, encircled by ten flat stones. An assortment of twigs, tinder, and other flammables slowly incinerated in the center of the inferno. Propped above the flickering blaze was a black pot, supported by an amalgamation of vineyard and salvaged steel.

The man organized a week's ration of food and water in her humble abode. The floor was littered in a generous covering of soft animal fur that cushioned the otherwise hard dirt. From the ceiling, a lantern swayed to and fro. And from the Firekeeper's neck, hidden betwixt her cleavage and beneath her robes, hung the aqua pigmented jewel. Beautiful as the deep blue hue of grand lakes, it was crystalline in form but smooth on all six sides, conforming to a point at the end of the jewel. It was sprinkled with sparkling slivers of white. Not only was it aesthetically pleasing, the blue light actually rivaled the lantern in terms of brightness.

"I fear I am nearing my journey's end," the man said, in a near whisper. "By the morn of the next day, I will have left thine side. I will seek a remedy, that will rejuvenate thine damaged body," he promised. "Perhaps, then, I will be worthy to request thou to forgive my sins of long ago, and…" he said, trailing off "perhaps, to even heal _my_ ailments…" As his head rested against the metal grating, the glanced skyward at the millions of stars that scattered the black night sky, illuminating the blank canvas.

The Firekeeper, lucid mere moments ago, was now growing somniferous despite her complaints. The fire that burned, no doubt, had foreign agents that the man did well to take precaution of.

All that was left in the wake of the man's presence and their days of respite, was the now smothered fire, and hopeful longing that bore itself, deep inside of the Firekeeper's bosom.

 _Where hast thou gone, my warrior? Do return…_


	7. The Grand Archives

The square room was claustrophobic but the warmth of the bonfire was intoxicating. The man struggled to rise on his one good leg and ascended the stairs slowly. The view of Anor Londo was always breathtaking, even now, basked in darkness of what once was the clamorous city. The architecture was incredible. The meticulously crafted grand Victorian-esque buildings stood to great contrast with the rest of Lordran. Undead Burg and Blighttown immediately come to mind, riddled with maladies and poverty. Anor Londo saw neither of the two. The spiral staircase in the center of the city served as an intersection between the three main areas of Anor Londo: the thoroughfare, the cathedral, and the fortress.

The thoroughfare connected the city to the Grand Archives, which housed the most impressive collection of miscellany of any neighboring countries. The cathedral was elaborate in decorative glassware that stretched the entire length of the walls. In mornings, the colored glassware would paint the cathedral innards a light shade of blue, and violet by nightfall. The most impressive of all, was the painting that stood at the back. _The Painted World of Ariamis._ Ariamis was a well-established painter, decorated and renowned. He crafted the lonely and cold winter landscape for unknown reasons, but there is no doubt a story of intrigue lies beyond. The most impressive however, was the fortress of a castle. Standing at the base of the daunting architecture was a sight to behold. Impeccably symmetrical on both sides, the fortress stood atop several dozen flights of stairs. What lay beyond was a grand hall of marble pillars and similarly patterned flooring that led to the throne room, guarded by the notorious Smough and Ornstein. A well-endowed giantess lay above in the bedchambers – at least rumored so.

However, sightseeing was not the goal of our protagonist today. The man stood at the edge of the cliff to the city for moment, encaptivated by the scenery. With a swift pivot of his ankle, he began his stride toward the Grand Archives.

A _mess_ could not even begin to describe the amount of disarray the library was in. Books laid strewn across the halls as if a literal hurricane had passed through. With prior knowledge of the place, the man could at least minimize the amount of time he had to scan through irrelevant literature. With as brisk a pace as he could manage, he trotted up the flight of stairs and into the back with mechanically rotating elevators. In the rear of the library, on the ground floor, the man lit the bonfire in the balcony and began his search within the medical books.

 _Being Mortal._

 _The Human Anatomy._

 _The Undead Curse._

 _The Canon of Medicine._

 _Medical Research Compendium._

 _Reptilian Regeneration and Human Recovery._

 _The Diagnostical and Statistical Manual of Disorders._

 _Faith Healing._

The man sat by a candle stick, hunched over and against a bookshelf. Reading past dozens of books and thousands of pages of medical research. But there was nothing ever documented on healing and regenerating. What made the process even more difficult is that he knew not what caused the Firekeeper's ailments.

As he arose to place another finished book on the table, he tripped over a gathering of properly stacked books in the maze of bookshelves. But he did not land on books alone.

 _Ugh_. The man grunted as a large metal lever impaled him in the gut. It was hidden behind the books. There were piles of books everywhere so the man had never paid attention to this one specifically. The lever drew no blood, but it still took the man a few minutes to recover from the incident.

The lever was simple but crowned with an ornate knob. With a heave, he pulled it and a large number of shelves next to him, shifted behind the wall and slid into place, clearing a path to a back room, cluttered with… even more bookshelves.

A week was spent here, intensively studying medical journals. It was not until the last day, that an unnamed handbook was found. It was not like the other miscellany, with a proper cover on the front and indexed chapters of medical research. The handbook was bound in a peeling, aged, black leather. It had no title and the contents seemed like the scribblings of a madman. It was littered with notes and crudely drawn but detailed diagrams of unknown or unheard-of diseases. One such, was an _Egg Burdened_ : a man reduced to crawling on his stomach due to parasitic eggs grotesquely latched onto his back. If the man hadn't known better and seen some of the creatures in the notebook himself, he would had thought it delusional. But he knew better. The last page of the handbook contained information on concocting a godly panacea. The list of instructions was difficult to read with the rushed and sloppy handwriting. It involved a vial of blood from a holy priestess, a part of the body of a sentient mushroom, a vial of mythical divine blessing, and ten flasks of estus imbued with the power of a Firekeeper to serve as a base. Upon reading the last ingredient, a terrible anguish filled the man as he was reminded of his past crimes. Though he shook his head, now was not the time to be distracted. On the bottom of the page, in large, bold letters: **Pancea heals only** ** _physical_** **ailments including hollowing. But will** ** _not_** **revive the dead, for I have tried…**

Meanwhile, in the church neighboring Firelink. A certain Knight of Carim escapes his cell; he has grown tired of imprisonment and tore through his prison with ease.

"I have a pressing matter to attend to. Wait a while longer, my beloved Fina. Thine offering shall grace thine presence soon enough," he whispered with a wicked grin and took his first step out of the prison. His golden armor clattered with each step and reflected the Sun in a most flattering light. "It's almost time…"

 **A/N: References to the Painted World of Ariamis' Priscilla, our adored dragon princess. Perhaps I will write a fic in the future of her. I know for a fact that several others in the Soulsborne community, including myself, all favor her amongst the plethora of NPCs. How could one ever hurt the kind giantess of snow white fur and fluffy tail? _It will be easier to write with actual dialogue too…_**


	8. Reminiscent Reverie

The morning routine for the lonely Firekeeper was monotonous. She was awoken from her slumber by the sunlight that crept upon her delicate features. Though this was generally her favorite part of the day prior to meeting the warrior; she found herself oddly discontent now, without the company to enjoy it with.

The Firekeeper spent most of her days reading. The warrior had been kind enough to even think of her recreational activities, she regarded with a faint smile. The Firekeeper blankly read the book, in a reminiscent daze; his broad figure, sitting against the rusted rebar, and the comforting silhouette that would be cast. She caught herself occasionally glancing to where he would sit. Given the amount of time she has spent imprisoned, she found it quite mysterious for her to feel such… magnetism.

 _Why him? Of all the undead warriors that have come by here._

She was the Firekeeper of Firelink Shrine, arguably the most integral bonfire in all of Lordran. When the undead die, she would be the one to guide their consciousness back, to ensuring the physical and mental link remain intact – not that many undead gave her credit for this, if at all. Her duties weren't many, but they were exhausting. Often times, the more powerful undead even offered ashen white, spherical souls, with what seemed like dozens of cilia wriggling about, to reinforce their estus – not the the Firekeeper ever inquired to it, either. Was the foundation for her attraction simply built on proximity?

It was a fact that no one paid her any attention, perhaps it was all just overwhelming her. It wasn't long before she would daydream of him, night and day, only to be snapped out of her reverie by the growing warmth within her bosom. But she found that she did not dislike the sensation; it was a welcome feeling. Her sense of longing after being deprived of basic needs for so long was insatiable. She simply could not wait for his return.

Before she could realize it, night had fallen. She gently reached above and ignited the lantern. With the light it provided, she grasped a quill and added another count to the parchment, keeping track of how long the warrior had been away for. With another click, the lantern extinguished and all that remained to be seen were the countless stars in the night sky.

 _Goodnight_ , she said groggily, picturing the man's face.

When morning came, the Firekeeper awoke hearing the clank of metal. She sat up to see a golden mess prancing about in front of her. A man in golden armor from head to toe noticed her awakening and regarded her warmly with a greeting.

"Hello, Firekeeper. I don't believe we've met. I am Lautrec, Knight of Carim. Pleased to make your acquaintance…" He gestured a slight bow. His voice was smooth yet sinister with a condescending quality to it, as if he knew the punch line to the joke far before anyone else had even caught on. There was no doubt a wicked grin stretched beneath his helm. The glistening golden armor was a telltale sign of a narcissistic man, and he certainly stood out amongst his fellow undead, whom were equipped with grimy, rusted gear.

The Firekeeper could barely hide the shiver and fear in her eyes. Every fiber of her body warned that he was a dangerous man. Just because she was immortal against time and disease, did not mean she was impervious to steel and ailments. She nodded slightly to regard him, never taking her eyes off of the man. She could feel her eyes begin to water from trepidation and not blinking. She inched away from him ever so slightly, hoping he would not notice. Offending this man was the last thing she would want.

"Oh, fear not, my _dear._ " He leaned in from the hip as he said this, with a slight tilt to his head, trying to ease her apprehension. Her eyes now caught his venomous gaze, and noticed the two glistening shotels to his side. Immediately, she slumps down and breaks eye contact, looking at the floor. Unable to mask her distress any longer, she panics and an almost inaudible whimper escapes her lips as she crawls further away from him.

"Hmph." He grunted in disregard, obviously noticing her fright. He walks back and rests on one of the fallen columns and crosses his arms. His shoulders slump and his head falls to one side, feigning sleep. The Firekeeper sighed in relief at the sight.

 _Please return with haste, good warrior._

However, with a keen gaze, Lautrec regards her from the darkness of his helm. Still wary, she hugs the corner of her prison. The only thing separating him from his prey, are a few rusted iron bars. Bars that the previous warrior could not break due to his dexterous nature would be an easy feat for the powerful knight. Even without doing so, he was sure his arm and shotel alone would be lengthy enough to pierce her innards, and if not, at least draw blood from her skin. A whispered laugh betrays his cover, and the Firekeeper sees the man shuddering in his armor, violently rattling the chainmail and metal plating. "It shan't be long, dear Fina."


	9. Nightly Visit

**A/N: For those confused, this chapter takes place around the same time as the previous one. That is to say, they begin at the same point in time. Chapter 8 was dedicated to Anastacia's POV while this one focuses on the man – I should probably name him by now, constantly referring to him as man, warrior, or stranger is getting a bit repetitive and tedious. I can only imagine how it is for the readers. However, I haven't done much brainstorming. If you guys really want to see him named, leave the comment in a review.**

The man ventured from the depths of the library and emerged with a renewed sense of direction. His next task was in clear sights. But before he could depart on yet another arduous journey, he had to procure food for the Firekeeper. He made sure to do this every week without fail. He'd quietly sneak into Firelink Shrine and gaze at her sleeping figure before beginning his work.

First was always the campfire. With the foundation already constructed, all he had to do was collect some tinder and strike his blade against flint, creating flame with ease. Afterwards, when he made sure the fire was to his liking, he would hike up into the nearby forests to scour berries and dismantle traps. There was a healthy batch of berries near the stream, and his intelligent contraptions never failed to capture prey. Her diet would consist of whatever the man fed her, and often times it was small game and berries. Though on particularly lucky days, there would be venison. Disappointingly, the food was never as tasty as when the man was around. When he was around, the food was fresh, the berries sweet, and the meat tender and juicy. Because of his long journeys, the meat could only be smoked and dried into jerky for preservation. Though, the lack of company might have been another reason.

Luckily enough, it seems there would be venison on the menu tonight. In a swift motion, the man darted from behind shadows and twisted the head of the beast off with precision and skill, minimizing the suffering. After a quick prayer, he pulls out a dagger and skins the beast in one stroke, removes the innards, and fillets the meat. With the meat and berries wrapped and packaged inside of his rucksack, an idea strikes him. It is still quite early in the night, and he heads for the stream once again.

He pulls out a handful of throwing daggers and juggles the extra on his offhand with ease. A good weapon, especially one that is thrown, relies on the distribution of weight and the balance of said weight in the weapon. He crafted his weapons himself to ensure quality. The knife ran six inches across, three inches blade, three inches hilt. The blade was long and thin, hollowed out on the inside to reduce weight, and the outer edge of the blade glistened against the moonlight. The hilt was crafted from the wood of a great oak. It was not decorated or designed, but the dark wood rings proved exquisite in contrast to the light shade of oak. The entire blade fit together perfectly, as if he had been a smith his entire life.

With a quick snap of the arm, the blade cuts through the chilly night air and with a thump, colliding with a tree. The man smiles. There, pinned against the tree, was a large, beautiful salmon. The unlucky fellow was on a journey against the stream. With great accuracy, the man pinned three, four, five more leaping fish to the forest beyond. After collecting the fish and securing clean, stream water, the man proceeded back to the camp.

The routine was always the same. Place the berries neatly inside of different wooden bowls according to color and taste. Sprinkle and rub in seasoning on the meat before smoking and drying. And boiling the water to remove purities.

Now, he was certainly no culinary genius, but it was also by no means inedible or even disgusting. Feeding her, however, was a duty, and he could only hope for her to understand the sentiment. Still, thinking about her indulging in his food with ravenous hunger and glee was all that was required to bring a flush to his cheeks. Even seated and watching the bonfire, it was clear that it was not due to the flames.

He tilts his head to the moon and stars. With a sigh and a chuckle, he whispers to himself, "Hah… it would seem you've been smitten, friend."

Tomorrow he will begin his journey, and depart before she awakes. But for now, he will enjoy the company of a certain sleeping Firekeeper.


	10. A Divine Priestess

**A/N: Very, very anticlimactic boss fight ahead. You have been warned lol. When reading romance fics, I tend to grow bored in long and drawn out boss fights. I want the romance in this to be believable, which is why I'm drawing it out so slowly. Combat will not be a major focus of this fic. There is also dialogue extracted directly from the game (with only slight changes to fit the manner of speech I use in this fic), which I hope does not infringe any copyrights. It is simply there as a tribute for all the DS1 fans.**

The Catacombs is a treacherous area. The area was not nearly as dangerous as Tomb of Giants, but it was also not to be underestimated. Many undead have plummeted to their gruesome deaths from one misstep. Even if one survived the fall, they would be in no shape to defend themselves from the skeletons that roam below, ones that threaten to tear skin and meat from bone.

Though fighting ones' way through the Catacombs was not logical either. The endlessly reviving skeletons would only serve to fatigue the undead. The man chose his usual way of avoiding conflict. He was able to avoid most of the skeletons with nimble sidestepping and swift tumbles, occasionally leaping from a cliff onto a shortcut. Other than a few arrows in the back, he was good as new.

The man made his way past the rolly-polly skeletons and dropped down into a candlelit room. A strange creature loomed before him. It was a figure draped in black cloth, but adorned three masks and six sticks jutting out lanterns hanging from it. It was clear that the mage was very powerful indeed, so the man stood back and cautiously observed the figure. The fireballs that came at him were slow enough that he could walk at a leisurely pace and dodge them. The entire ordeal was quite comical, really.

When the figure began to clone itself, the man had finally grown tired of their dance. He unsheathed a rapier in his dominant hand and held a parrying dagger in the other. He crouched low to the ground before dawning upon the mage at full speed, easily dodging any spells thrown his way. After a quick exchange of blows – one sided blows, that is – the figure drooped to the ground with a dagger embedded in its torso. After mere moments, it was reduced to nothing more than black cloth on the floor.

What lay beyond though, the man was not prepared for. He had heard tell of a priestess of Thorolund stranded in the caves underneath Firelink with scarce resources and hollowed guards. She was his objective, and tumbling in the darkness would be a small price to pay. The Tombs were pitch black, and there was no exaggeration in that. The man could hold out his hand, inches from his face, and see nothing.

He wandered for hours on end, through the maze that was the Tomb. Beautiful, incandescent stones trailed the paths, but he would still find himself retracing paths that he had already set upon. In the pitch of black, he had cleverly managed to craft a mental map of the area. Carefully, with deliberate steps and a hand against the wall, the man carefully treaded into new territory.

He was fairly certain that this was a path. But after only a dozen or so paces, he stood in the face of a large, skeletal beast. The man instinctively jumped back, preparing to defend himself but had forgotten his surroundings for a while. While one foot landed, his back foot only caught air, and he quickly tumbled into the abyss, landing with a thump and a crack.

Even in the dark, unlit caverns, he could tell the room was spinning. He lay there, dazed and concussed with a broken leg. The fractured bone had not pierced skin, which was a very good sign, estus could only heal so much. He braced himself as he set his leg straight. Slowly, and with the aid of a stalagmite, he slowly rose with his weight on one leg.

The cavern was not large by any means, but danger in such a place was still to be expected. He limped around, from wall to wall until his eyes could discern a seated figure in a white gown. Her seated figure, oddly enough, reminded him of the Firekeeper…

He approached slowly. When the figure heard the slight shuffling of feet, she voiced, "Who goes there?" with slight apprehension. "Thou art no Hollow, are thee? Thank goodness. Please be careful. There are two fierce Hollows not far from here. They were once brave knights… my former escorts. Who would let such strong spirits be Hollowed so? Heavens… Is there nothing… Nothing at all to be done?" The woman spoke gently but with a great sadness. "Oh, goodness. Thou art hurt. Allow me…" She extracted a talisman from her skirt pocket and began chanting in an unfamiliar language. Golden-yellow light surrounds them and the man's fatigue is instantly drained.

"Lady… no. Priestess Rhea, I presume? Incredible, I must say. You have my gratitude. I require something of thee, but let us discuss such matters after we are rid of these dreadful caverns and beasts."

"Yes, that would be I. But I am I afraid I cannot leave in good conscience whilst my former knights rot in their hollowed carcasses. Please, end their suffering." Still sitting, she clasps her hands together and begins her prayers again, chanting unrecognizable words and hymns.

The man makes short work of the two before returning to Priestess Rhea.

"Thou hast banished those two Hollows did you?" She trailed off near the end, having to sniffle away tears. "It pains me to think of the trouble my failings have caused thee." She replied when she regained her composure, with a forced smile. "I am certain that both Vince and Nico are grateful to thee. Thank thee so very much. Here, these belonged to them. Thou deserves them more than I."

She handed over a small, cloth doll and a necklace. Both of which he obviously had no use for, but still politely accepted on the grounds of creating proper burials for her two knights with these.

With a helping hand, she rose to her feet and the two began their trek towards Firelink.

When the two near the steps of Firelink, he prompts "Thou possesses a divine blessing, does thou not? I am afraid I must request it from thee. It is of grave importance, otherwise I would not ask."

She hesitates for a moment before reaching under top layers of skirts and retrieves an elongate, golden potion from her inner skirts. The potion bottle is made from pure gold and an intricately designed pattern shows superior craftsmanship. The potion body, then, tapers off to an opening, sealed by a cork that is made of the same material. The base of the elixir was brandished with the number _5_ , signifying that only so many of these precious elixirs were produced. "Contained inside is holy water from the Goddess Gwynevere. I am sure I need not mention how valuable this is. Divine Blessings are bestowed upon only the most devout of the faith."

It was a miracle that he had not grabbed the Blessing, for he surely would have dropped it. Standing before the Firekeeper, was a man donned in golden armor. His weapon raised and ready to strike.

The man was fueled by a surge of adrenaline and he dashed towards the attacker with unprecedented speed, clashing swords with the manic warrior.

 **A/N: I realized it has been quite a few days since I last updated the story – 6 days. I finally have a break and decided to go all out, writing three chapters tonight as a great, big thank you to all those who are supporting this. Seeing a new follower, review, or favorite makes my day without fail. Thank you!**


	11. Lautrec, Knight of Carim

**A/N: This chapter is the continuation of chapter 8, the events leading up to Lautrec attacking the Firekeeper.**

The Firekeeper had difficulty resting that night. Even the slightest of sounds would bring her to alarming lucidity She could not rest more than ten minutes at any given time. Lautrec had remained still in his seated position, eventually sliding his torso down onto the ground, so that only his head lay against the pillar he rested on. Under the clouded illumination of the moon, only the outlines of his armor could be made out; and Anastacia was not sure which position the man rested in was more frightening.

For one thing, it was uncertain if the man were still lucid. His entire body laid parallel to the ground, but his neck was propped up in such a way that was surely uncomfortable; and his body orientated toward the Firekeeper.

It was a relief when morning came. She was uncertain when she had dozed off but the sound of chirping birds awoke her. The entire night was spent in cold sweat that has since dried off, and the chilly air of the morning was refreshing. Her moment of awaking serenity was short though, as she noticed a figure loomed over her.

He stood there, unmoving. Upon seeing him up close, she noticed that he was a particularly large man. His decorative golden armor looked as if a single long sheet of metal wrapped around and ascended his arms in a snake-like coil. In the center of his chest lay a pair of arms, embracing him across diagonally from shoulder to waist. The front of his helmet was an array of disproportionally shaped holes scattered about to grant vision and breathability. If at one point in time the armor was polished and shone with luster, that time is no longer. The once golden armor was reduced to an unpleasant yellow and has begun to rust at the hinges. Parts of the armor had kinks and scratches; one of the decorative pieces of metal atop his helmet was even bent beyond disrepair, and his left pauldron dented in.

The man did not move for several minutes, and in fact, he was so still one could have mistaken him for being asleep on his feet or frozen in time. There was an aura of morbid animosity that shrouded the man. It covered him in head to toe and laced every word he spoke, every action he took. This man is _dangerous_.

A sudden tilt of his helmed head toward his shoulder startled the Firekeeper.

"Why dost thou fear me?" He questioned with a voice higher than usual, almost sounding as though he was sincerely hurt. With his left arm, he grasped the rusted bars that separated the two and began to trace a finger up and down another with his free arm. "From how I see it, I have not yet harmed thee," he ended with a shrug. Quickly catching his mistake, he added, "that is not to say that I will," voicing a deep menacing chuckle that rattled her bones. "This is rather insulting! I, a visitor, have come to visit thee at thine home! Instead of showing a visitor simple hospitality…" he trailed off, seemingly losing his train of thought.

It wasn't often that the undead of Lordran whom were met with psychosis were not hollow. This was arguably more frightening than an undead.

The knight stepped back and twirled on his hind leg once, in an overly dramatic display of theatrics. Once stabilized, he finished with a slight bow from the waist. Maintaining his position, he looked up at the Firekeeper. "Please, do fix thine manners lest I become…" he paused shortly, thinking of an appropriate word, "upset."

The rest of the day was uneventful. The golden knight pranced to and fro when he was not observing the Firekeeper. If the whole situation were not so tense, there might have even been some comedic value to be had. The audible rustle of his armor stretched from early day to late night. The Firekeeper rested in the rear of the prison, her new clothes smudged with dirt and grime, her hair disheveled. As the sun slid beneath the horizon and darkness engulfed the sky, the rattle of his armor became more hurried.

Eventually succumbing to the fear, the Firekeeper turned her back to the world and rest her face between her arms, covering both ears, and drew her knees to her bosom to at least provide some comfort.

Before morning came, she was awoken by small pebbles thrown at the metal bars. Lautrec sat open legged with his back to the fallen pillar. Between his legs were a pile of collected rocks, some small, some big. The Firekeeper laid in the back, harassed by rocks until dawn. Lautrec threw the rocks and pebbles in an entirely unorganized fashion. The small rocks that did not ricochet off the bars would land near or on her. The larger rocks hit the bars with a _pang_ that rustled the entire foundation and caused dirt to nestle free from the ceiling.

The thought occurred to her that she was being toyed with; akin to how one might extract the wings from a fly and watch as they squirmed.

She sat still in the back, shielding her face and head with her arms, her body wrapped in a blanket. A number of pebbles that slid between the bars were only a minor annoyance, but the larger rocks found their mark were painful enough for her to wince in pain, causing bruises and lesions.

By dawn, Lautrec had grown tired of his game. He stood and sauntered over, mere inches from her cage. His two outstretched arms grasped the weakening metal and flexed them to either side. He grunted and heaved as he did. All the Firekeeper could do was stare, mouth agape, in disbelief and freight. When he eventually finished, the bars had been flexed wide enough, that a man of his stature could easily fit through. He stood a step back and admired his handiwork with a slight nod before unsheathing his shotel.

"Play time is over, my sweet," his voice distant and cold.

The helpless Firekeeper continued to stare unblinking, with tears beginning to form in her eyes that refused to be shed. She would have shrieked if she could. Her entire body trembled, and all remaining strength left her. She shut her eyelids as tight as she could manage and scrunched up in a corner. She could only picture the face of the man, before he turned his back to her walked away.

"Fina awaits."

 **A/N: I apologize for taking so long to update. In truth, my exams were but an excuse, I didn't study at all… I have a terrible habit of being inconsistent. I'll try to update more regularly. I will definitely finish the story, and I hope you all enjoy it.**


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